\"but why, dear papa? do tell me!\"

he looked up at her suddenly, and then said with a slow and enforcedcalmness:

\"because i must no longer be a minister in the church of england.\"

margaret had imagined nothing less than that some of the prefermentswhich her mother so much desired had befallen her father at last-somethingthat would force him to leāve beautiful, beloved helstone,and perhaps pel him to go and live in some of the stately and silentcloses which margaret had seen from time to time in cathedral towns.

they were grand and imposing places, but if, to go there, it wasnecessary to leāve helstone as a home for ever, that would hāve been asad, long, lingering pain. but nothing to the shock she received frommr. hale\"s last speech. what could he mean? it was all the worse forbeing so mysterious. the aspect of piteous distress on his face, almostas imploring a merciful and kind judgment from his child, gāve her asudden sickening. could he hāve bee implicated in anythingfrederick had done? frederick was an outlaw. had her father, out of anatural love for his son, connived at any-\"

oh! what is it? do speak, papa! tell me all! why can you no longer be aclergyman? surely, if the bishop were told all we know aboutfrederick, and the hard, unjust--\"

\"it is nothing about frederick; the bishop would hāve nothing to do withthat. it is all myself. margaret, i will tell you about it. i will answer anyquestions this once, but after to-night let us never speak of it again. ican meet the consequences of my painful, miserable doubts; but it is aneffort beyond me to speak of what has caused me so much suffering.\"

\"doubts, papa! doubts as to religion?\" asked margaret, more shockedthan ever.

\"no! not doubts as to religion; not the slightest injury to that.\"

he paused. margaret sighed, as if standing on the verge of some newhorror. he began again, speaking rapidly, as if to get over a set task:

.。［t［

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